let me tell you about the hypnic jerk

a loss
of my limbs
each night to jolt and chaos

this falling as I see you

in blurry firework
neurons going off
in the attic
of my skull

            that football field in Atlanta, rocky road
            ice cream, more brown eyes
            milk duds
            dissolving, a cord
            of endless gerunds

I only fear dust that settles.

falling
is because of gravity
the root
of a black hole.

if dreams
are rabbit holes, then each night
everyone follows the white rabbit
as we close
our eyes and slip
off the sheet

with a shake, I reach
the missing particle,
the last day of summer, the tree you loop
your arms around the girl on the moon
who will live forever.

I fall and see dogs
running through craters
hunting for moon-rabbits

their bodies jumping
and jerking
as they slip
and land
down
the rabbit hole

Lillian Sickler has been writing poems since she was 12. She recently graduated from the University of Massachusetts with a degree in Comparative Literature and is working on her first poetry book. She has been published in Asterism, Cosmonauts Avenue and Drunk In a Midnight Choir.